


with a love so hard and filled with defeat

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADWD spoilers, AFFC spoilers, ASOS Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Red Wedding, Rocks Fall Everyone Dies, Triggers, this never happened, well I suppose the RW is a trigger in itself, well that's exactly what you're thinking it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Theon doesn’t go to Pyke at all and some things change, but not the overall outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with a love so hard and filled with defeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titaniumlori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumlori/gifts).



> written for got_exchange's fourth round; the prompt was _Theon/Robb, angst, death fic. “I should have died with him.”_. And then it ended up being more 'how Theon *not* betraying Robb would still have meant that the Red Wedding happened' than strictly about that specific part, but it took a life of its own at some point. Nothing belongs to me, the title is from Bruce Springsteen. Also, this thing is full of references to Theon's ADWD chapters, but it's nothing that would be noticeable if you haven't read that far.

I

Theon watches Robb sign the letter that he’s supposed to bring home, black ink over paper that looks golden in the firelight, and he wishes tomorrow had come already. This time tomorrow he’ll be riding to Seagard, towards Pyke (it was half in ashes the last time he saw it – surely it must be beautiful again by now) with that parchment in his pocket. He goes through the plan all over again, just to make sure that he hasn’t overlooked anything, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone would gain from it (himself, Robb, his family), so what could possibly not go his way? He can almost taste victory – the moment his father accepts his proposal, then there’s just no way things could go wrong. The thought that he might be the one to repair the rift that opened with his father’s rebellion is such a sweet one, and he’s itching to leave as much as he’s itching to come back with the answer.

But as Robb seals the parchment, someone comes inside the tent.

Theon has never paid much attention to Roose Bolton, but his dislike of the man starts here and now.

He’s not come alone – there is the Greatjon and the Smalljon, Rickard Karstark and a number of other lords; there’s some raven message in Bolton’s hands, and none of them look too pleased.

Especially when they look at him.

“Your Grace,” Bolton says, his tone grave (and Theon can’t help thinking that something’s off with it), “this has just arrived. We all thought it was of uttermost importance.”

Robb nods and takes the message.

Theon knows that it’s nothing good when his face goes pale the moment he finishes reading it.

But he doesn’t realize that it somehow concerns him until he realizes that everyone in the tent is looking at him with… well, saying distaste would be an understatement, while Robb looks worried.

“What is that?” he asks, his tone more somber than he’d have liked.

Robb hands him the letter, even if no one else seems to approve of that. Not from the way they’re still staring at him.

It’s from Thorren’s Square’s maester.

_Ironborn fleets have attacked Moat Caitlin and the Stony Shore. Balon Greyjoy has broken the truce. Most probably you’ll receive similar letters shortly._

And suddenly, Theon understands why they’re all looking at him with distaste.

What makes his blood run cold isn’t that his carefully thought plan has just crumbled down in pieces in the five seconds it took him to read that letter. What makes his blood run cold, is that he remembers how it felt whenever Ned Stark spoke to him (there was always a sword between the two of them), and while Ned Stark is dead, he’s still – he’s still –

Fuck.

They’re all expecting Robb to kill him. At short notice.

And the thing is that they aren’t even wrong. Robb _should_ do it. Right the fuck now.

He thinks he wants to throw up. But then he realizes something else. They sent a raven to Pyke telling about his departure around midday, and it’s dusk now. There’s no chance that it arrived yet. Which means that his father had been planning this since before Ned Stark died at all, probably, and he hadn’t even taken into account the chance that he might lose his head for it. Or better, he probably took it into account and decided that it wasn’t enough to stop him.

In that moment he knows that the trip wouldn’t have worked out – there’s no way that no one thought about what would happen to him if they went through with the plan, and if he was deemed expendable… then he isn’t so sure that his proposal would have been accepted.

He’s gripping the side of the table hard enough that his knuckles are turning white. He looks up and no face among the ones he sees looks friendly. Then he glances at Robb, who’s still paler than Theon’s ever seen him, and then Robb’s mouth becomes a thin line before he turns towards his bannermen again.

“It’s not his fault,” he says.

“Your Grace, that has really nothing to do with the matter at hand,” Bolton says. Theon doesn’t like the tone at all. “There’s a reason why he’s here and not there. His father obviously made a decision, and you’re at war. Showing weakness right now isn’t what I would call a good plan of action.”

Obviously. As if these people ever saw him as more than a bargaining chip. Not that his father is any better, is he?

“He has fought for us, and he saved my brother’s life once. And you expect me to cut his head just like that?”

 _What?_ That was unexpected – Robb hadn’t seemed too happy about it back then. And Theon had thought he was full of shit for that, and he hadn’t been over it for a while, so hearing that now – maybe Robb realized that he had actually been full of shit? Small consolations. Robb can argue with these men forever and they won’t relent – Theon can see it fairly well.

Fuck, there has to be a way out of this, also because he really, really doesn’t want to die for – for someone who knowingly signed his death sentence.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but that hardly matters. Your men in the yard are expecting you and I’m not entirely sure that showing weakness in front of your army would benefit your cause.”

Bolton sounds like a viper, Theon thinks.

_There has to be a way, there has to be, there –_

Maybe there is.

 _You’re still ironborn_ , a part of him says. _You can’t do it. It’s not what you were taught._

 _Sure_ , another part objects. _From people who never looked at you twice unless they wanted to remind you that you weren’t tough enough or from people who have condemned you to death after sending you away like some kind of dog._

When he raises his head again, everyone except Robb has left and when Robb looks at him, his face seems devastated.

“There has to be some way to avoid this,” he mutters.

“Stark, they want my head. And they have all the rights to ask it of you.”

“Oh, gods, you’re such an idiot – I don’t _want_ to kill you!”

That decides it. It’s a sad thing, when your captor’s son (who should have beheaded you already) is the one person who actually gives a damn about your side of the story, or who cares enough about you not to want you dead, but – at least he has that much.

Theon grabs Robb’s sealed letter and throws it into the fire.

“I think there might be a way out,” he whispers. His voice comes out strangled.

Robb’s eyes get cautiously hopeful and Theon tells him. Robb gives him a nod after, pondering the entire thing.

“I guess it could be done. At least I’ll gain a more convincing argument to spare you than the ones I have right now.” Then his eyes narrow, his lips still drawn in a thin line. “I can’t believe you’d want to do it, though.”

“I think my head remaining on my shoulders is more important than what I’d want to do if I had a choice.”

“Let’s go then.” Robb puts on his sword belt (hopefully just for showing) and when he walks out of the door, Theon thinks that he doesn’t look like a fifteen-year old green boy at all.

\--

The yard is filled to the brink with northern lords. Lady Stark, her brother and her uncle are there, as well. Bolton is in first row.

He really, really wants to throw up. Possibly on Bolton’s shoes. That would be a nice prospect, but he can’t afford to show that kind of weakness right now.

Robb is speaking, but Theon can’t understand a word of what he’s saying. He can hear the crowd hum, possibly in approval – he can’t say. He just focuses on what he’s about to do, hoping that it’s enough, hoping that no one understands that they agreed on it before they came down to the yard. It probably has more chances to work if everyone thinks that Robb wasn’t expecting it.

“Is there something you want to say before I proceed?” Robb asks, and _this_ he hears. He sounds cold, the way his father used to sound, and for a moment he thinks he really will throw up.

But he has to do it, Theon reasons.

“There’s something I would do, if Your Grace allows me.”

“Go on.”

He takes a breath, swallows, then turns so that his face is in front of Robb’s.

Robb gives him a soft, barely there nod – not that anyone could have seen it, since Theon is right in front of him.

All right.

He drops down on one knee and the entire crowd goes silent.

Well, good to know they hadn’t expected it.

“Your Grace,” he starts, hoping that he manages to say everything before he really does throw up, “I am aware of what my father has done.” _You can bet that I am_. “What you decide to do with me is entirely your decision. But if you would like to show me mercy, I will gladly give you my sword. In victory and defeat. From this day until my last day.”

He can’t really do more than that – there’s a lump in his throat and his hands are shaking and no one is going to like this. _Is this how Ned Stark felt before they took his head?_ , he thinks. At least, if his own does roll eventually, he’ll know that it wasn’t done out of spite. Or cruelty.

Not that it’s much of a consolation, but at least it’s better if it’s Robb than if it’s anyone else.

He can hear people murmuring behind him, he grasps some pieces of conversation (no one sounds too excited about the prospect), and Robb says nothing. Well, he needs to pretend to think about it. Probably. Theon hopes so. Because otherwise – oh gods, if he decides that maybe it’s better if he goes through with it after all –

“Now and always?” Robb asks then, and everyone goes silent all over again.

He swallows, looks up at Robb’s blue eyes that aren’t betraying anything, but the words were enough.

“Now and always. If you’ll have me.”

There are maybe another ten seconds of silence, and then a hand is on his shoulder and –

“I’ll have you. You may rise.”

He hadn’t known what sheer relief felt like until this moment, but as it washes all over him, he has to will his legs to stop shaking as he stands up. There’s dirt on his breeches and his palms are sweating.

And then it starts.

“Your Grace, are you absolutely sure?”

“Your Grace, I don’t think that –”

“What will the men say?”

“Your Grace, I wouldn’t want to question your judgment, but –”

“ _Enough_ ,” Robb says, not exactly shouting but his voice loud enough that everyone else stops talking. “He bent the knee and I accepted it. I owed him nothing before but I do now, and I’m not going to think twice about it. Balon Greyjoy doesn’t probably care either way or he’d have never attacked in the first place, and he’d be more useful fighting than dead. And that’s the last I will say about this. Understood?”

No one tries to object and Theon swallows before following Robb back into the castle. He isn’t too sure about staying behind.

When they get to Hoster Tully’s solar, Robb lets out a breath as his face crumples into a relieved expression, and that’s good – that’s _Robb_ , not the king in the North, and Theon likes the former a whole fucking lot better.

“Well,” Robb says, “that went better than I thought it would.”

“Why, what did you expect?”

“More protests. That will come eventually, but – well, they can protest as much as they want. It’s done.”

Theon grabs one chair and lets himself fall on it.

Then he thinks about the entire thing again and he’s not sure that he could stand up if he tried.

 _You were not much better than damned Sansa Stark_ , he thinks bitterly. _She thought that the small blonde prick was a prince from the songs and he got her father killed, not that he could swing that sword himself. And you spent ten years thinking that the moment you came back home you’d be welcomed with open arms. At best, no one would have cared either way. After all you were quick enough to forget that your father could have sent your sister to Winterfell but sent you instead. And you should be thankful that he waited for Ned Stark to die, or your head would have rolled for real._ Not to mention that if he and Robb were at least peers before, in theory, now – he wants to laugh just so that he doesn’t end up crying instead. He isn’t even sure that he has a title anymore – the moment he bent the knee, he pretty much disowned himself. Better that than dead, sure, but he isn’t sure of how many other blows he can take before the day is over.

“I’m sorry.” Robb’s voice breaks through his trail of thought.

“What for?”

Robb’s face has _I can’t believe you_ written all over it.

“What do you think I’d be sorry for? For – gods, I almost had to kill you and your father knew that perfectly, and you expect me to think that it’s nothing when I’ve heard you talking about the day you’d rule over the Iron Islands for years?”

It feels like a slap to the face.

A deserved slap to the face, to be honest, but Robb’s right. That’s exactly what he has been thinking until now, no point in denying it.

“Not much I can do about it, Stark. Pardon, Your Grace.”

“You don’t have to call me like that when no one is around.”

“I figured I should get used to it.”

“You’re the last person I need to hear it from. And the only one I thought wouldn’t care. Just – don’t.”

Theon gives him a nod, runs a still shaking hand through his hair.

“Robb?” He doesn’t like the sound of his own voice. It hasn’t been that small in years. But – he supposes he’s allowed.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You – you didn’t have to do it. Don’t think that I don’t know. For what it’s worth, I meant it.”

He doesn’t know how to describe the sound coming out of Robb’s mouth – it wasn’t a laugh, but he doesn’t have the words for it. “You’re an idiot. Seriously? You might have been my father’s hostage, but you never were mine. I couldn’t have done that to Jon and I couldn’t have done that to you.”

Robb doesn’t say it out loud, but there’s no need to. Everyone in Winterfell knew that Robb always thought of Jon as his brother, regardless of his lady mother’s opinion on that specific matter.

If he answers, he’ll probably say something he’ll regret. He isn’t sure he knows how he should answer, to be truthful.

But at least there’s something he can do.

“I haven’t forgotten the way my people do wars,” he says, quietly. “Whenever you answer ravens or if you send someone north, let me see them first. I might have something useful for them.”

 _You’re a turncloak_ , a voice that sound like one of his long-deceased brothers says. He can’t even remember which one it belongs to.

_At least I’m not dead._

There’s no answer.

II

They’re headed for the Crag when the first raven from Winterfell arrives.

Theon knows that it’s about either him or his father or the Ironborn rebellion from the way everyone stares at him all over again.

He doesn’t go towards Robb’s tent at once even if he had been tempted. Maybe it’s better not to push his luck.

Then someone who’s most probably a Frey whose name Theon can’t remember comes to find him.

“His Grace wants to see you.” He sounds disgusted.

Theon ignores it and goes towards Robb’s tent.

Robb is sitting down at a table full of maps and doesn’t look pleased with the situation at all.

“What happened?”

“Your sister happened. She apparently stormed into Deepwood Motte and there are Ironborns all over the coast. Without counting your uncle in Moat Caitlin, but we knew about that already.”

Theon almost expects Robb to say that he’s going to take it back. That he really needs his head right now. He wouldn’t even fault him.

Except that there’s something nagging at him. “Didn’t you tell them that they should keep most of the forces on the shore?”

“I did. But apparently they knew for some reason that it was your advice. And not enough followed it.”

This doesn’t sound good at all. “I’m –”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not – gods, Theon, stop thinking that I’ll change my mind. It’s not your damned fault. But are you sure they won’t go for Winterfell?”

Theon takes a breath. “It’s inland. That’s – that’s really not the way we – they fight. Holding a fortress far from the sea is useless and a waste of resources. I can’t know for sure, but if my father wants the same things he wanted back then, then he wants his crown and more harbors in the North. He wouldn’t know what to do with Winterfell. But I don’t know if they have different plans this time.”

“That’s going to have to be enough.”

“Maybe you should go back.”

“If I go back, I lose everything I gained here. If only my mother would bring me Renly’s men. But she’s been gone too long.”

That’s a point. This isn’t going well. This isn’t going well at all.

“We’re going ahead with the plans,” Robb says, his voice barely audible.

Theon can feel that he’s angry, and he glances at the crown resting on the corner of the table.

He doesn’t want to know how heavy it must feel.

“I’m – maybe it’d have been better if your father had taken my sister,” he says, and he wants to bite his tongue after because _why_ would he even say that in front of Robb, but it’s out by now. He can’t take it back.

“And what difference would it have made?”

Theon shrugs. He might as well say the truth. “I’m here. He went back to war anyway. And it wasn’t your father who chose which one of us was going with him back then. If he had taken her maybe he wouldn’t have gone to war at all.”

“Gods, do you still think that I blame you? I know you couldn’t help any of it. It’s your father’s stupid fault, not yours. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that you aren’t getting a better treatment here.”

Theon shrugs, trying to downplay how much that weights. “That’s fine. It’s not like they changed their treatment of me overnight, Stark. I’ll live with it.”

_At least I’ll live._

Robb pushes the map somewhere to his left and stands up. “That’s part of the problem,” he says under his breath. Theon doesn’t push it and takes a couple of steps closer to Robb, wishing he had some advice that might make some kind of difference.

He doesn’t.

Some three months ago maybe he’d have touched Robb’s shoulder or something like that, but if someone comes in and sees them – not a good idea.

If only he had been Ned Stark’s ward for real.

Robb looks at him for a moment, then he heads for the tent’s entrance. Theon hears him telling the guard not to let anyone in unless it’s a matter of life and death, and to warn before coming inside in all cases, and then he comes back, stopping next to him.

“You were about to tell me something before. Or do it. What was that?”

He sounds almost disillusioned. Such a difference from the Whispering Wood. Theon reaches out, putting a hand on Robb’s shoulder, at the base of his neck – not what anyone should do when they’re in front of a king and they’re technically s good as any commoner that ever was, but Robb closes his eyes and leans into it, as if he was hoping for anyone to just forget for a moment that he’s the king in the North. Theon doesn’t want to think about how much pressure he has on his shoulders right now, and he also knows that he’s the one person in this stupid camp that will forget their manners if needed – not that Theon ever had much use for manners in the first place.

He hopes that no life or death news will come just right now. Then he moves his hand down Robb’s shoulder and tugs him forward, hoping that he isn’t reading things wrong. But Robb goes with it, his head on Theon’s shoulder, his hands grabbing Theon’s cloak a bit tighter than it’d be proper, and – well. Sometimes you just need that, Theon figures, especially when you’re not even sixteen and people think that it doesn’t mean anything in the great scheme of things. It’s not much in exchange for not being dead, but there’s nothing else he can do now.

For once, he’s lucky and no life or death news have to be delivered just then. He isn’t sure of how long it lasts, but when Robb moves away (a bit reluctantly) he looks a bit less tense, which is enough to make Theon think that it was a good call.

“Thanks,” Robb croaks, his voice barely audible.

“That’s – that’s what brothers do, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t have the time to wish he had bitten his own tongue instead of saying that, because the look Robb sends his way is everything he had wanted to see that day when he saved Bran’s life, and he isn’t sure that he even knows what to do with it (except swearing to himself to remember every detail of it).

“You have a point,” Robb answers.

Lying to himself would be just useless, Theon thinks. There’s still a faint voice in his head telling him _he’s not your brother, his father’s men killed both of yours_ , but Theon knows that it doesn’t matter. Regardless of who Robb’s father was and regardless of his siblings being dead, Robb has still been more of a brother to him than any of the ones he’s actually related to ever was, even when they were still alive.

He knows that it’s not the way it works.

But it bothers him a lot less than it should. Fine. It’s not how it works. He’ll deal with it, if it means that at least he gets to keep the one good thing that’s ever happened to him.

III

It’s the dead of the night when he hears someone coming into his tent.

He grabs the knife he’s been keeping under his pillow since the beheading that didn’t happen (better safe than sorry), but when he turns on his side, ready to strike, he realizes that it wasn’t needed.

“Robb? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Robb is crouching on the ground, his teeth biting into his lip hard enough to almost make it bleed. “Renly’s dead,” he says. “I just got a message. My mother has left the camp, apparently, and it’s said that one of his guards did it. I don’t even care about why, but – well. He’s dead.”

_And the alliance isn’t happening. More men aren’t happening and we can’t go back North._

“Fuck,” Theon whispers.

“What I thought,” Robb echoes, and then he drops to his knees and sends his way such a lost look that Theon can’t help thinking _what are we even doing here? There’s no way this is going to end well_.

He isn’t expecting Robb to kiss him.

It’s not even a serious kiss, just Robb’s lips slamming against his, and there’s some hesitation in that.

He should push Robb away. He really should. And then he should pretend that it never happened.

Instead he brings a hand behind Robb’s neck and pulls him in.

At least it should be a damned proper kiss, not a sad excuse for it.

When they part, Robb’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark blue and Theon should really say no. This can’t be happening.

“What are you even doing?” he asks instead.

“I’m – it’s just, I _need_ – it’s too much, I never asked for this, and I want –”

“I know what you want,” Theon cuts him short. He understood the gist of it, and he gets it – he’s sought it from whores or maids or kitchen wenches long enough, and he didn’t have the responsibility of a kingdom over his shoulders, and it’s _Robb_ , and there’s no one else Theon would have gone willingly on his knees for, regardless of the circumstances.

He brings Robb in again, kissing him again, forcing him to slow down. Robb’s lips are all soft and pliant against his, his hands rough as he slips his fingers through Theon’s hair, and in moments he’s moved, his knees around Theon’s. He’s rigid though, and Theon figures it won’t work – he flips them over and starts working on Robb’s tunic and shirt, getting rid of them and running his hands over Robb’s tense shoulders and along his hips, feeling the soft, warm flesh lose its stiffness.

Good.

“What does His Grace require of me?” he jokes, his mouth against Robb’s ear, his hands still gently holding Robb’s hips down.

“None of that,” Robb moans, but Theon can feel that he had tried to arch up against him the moment he said it.

“You can admit that you like it on certain occasions,” Theon coos as he unlaces Robb’s breeches, his hand pushing down Robb’s smallclothes. 

Robb looks about to say something, but it dies on his tongue the moment Theon’s fingertips touch the head of his cock. He keeps it light, just teasing, and he can’t help feeling a bit satisfied the moment Robb bites his tongue not to moan out loud. And Theon hasn’t even done anything yet.

He reaches forward with his free hand and grabs the knife he kept under his pillow. He turns it upside down so that it falls down from the sheath onto the ground, and then he hands Robb the sheath. It’s all leather – it should work.

“Bite down on that.”

“Theon –”

“No one is ever going to notice.”

Robb stops complaining and bites down on the leather.

Theon moves farther down the stool he’s sleeping on and then leans down and puts his mouth in place of his fingers.

Robb arches up at once – good that Theon had imagined that he would – and Theon takes him in deeper, and he feels Robb harden slightly inside his mouth and fuck if it isn’t turning him on as well. He doesn’t waste time thinking that this isn’t a position he should want to be in and proceeds on trying to do to Robb everything that he likes when it’s done to him – having been with all the women in Winterfell’s only brothel has taught him something, after all. He runs his tongue under the head while Robb is obviously trying not to thrash under him, he puts his own hands on Robb’s sides, his fingertips digging into that soft, pale flesh. When Robb’s hands reach down and his fingers get tangled in his hair, Theon manages not to choke when he pushes his head farther down. He lets Robb thrust up into his mouth as much as he likes, and he’s so hard by now that Theon knows he won’t last long. He doesn’t lose his rhythm, using his tongue when he isn’t actively sucking him off, and then Robb is tugging at his hair and Theon would smile to himself, but he can’t.

Good.

He doesn’t move an inch and when Robb arches up with a last, deep thrust, Theon keeps still as Robb comes into his mouth at first – then he has to move away or else he’s really going to choke. He spits on the ground – not that anyone will ever notice – and then he wraps his hand around Robb’s dick again, stroking until he’s lying half-spent on the ground.

It takes Robb a short while to reach up with his hand and toss away the knife’s sheath – there’s some deep imprint of teeth on there, and Theon isn’t so sure that it’s going to be easy to hide. Then again, he can say that he was the one biting down on it while he was with some whore – who’s going to deny it? When Robb opens his eyes, they’re dark blue and his pupils are blown, and he looks a lot less tense than he was before.

“I should –” he starts, glancing down at Theon’s breeches.

Right. He should take care of _that_ , but until now he had been too concentrated on Robb’s problem rather than his own.

“I can do that outside. You don’t look as if you can even stand up, Stark.”

“Oh, _really_.”

Before Theon can come up with a retort, Robb drags himself to a sitting position, puts his hand on his shoulder and drags Theon down so that they’re lying on their sides, in front of each other.

“I think I can manage,” Robb says softly before moving forward and pushing a hand down Theon’s breeches and smallclothes.

He can manage all right, since Theon was hard as a rock to begin with – it takes him a lot less to make Theon come than it had taken Theon to make _him_ come; he doesn’t keep count of that, but Theon is spilling all over Robb’s hand in a matter of maybe a couple of minutes. Robb’s touch doesn’t feel at all awkward or restrained, at least – he’s not pulling any kind of tricks, but he strokes him with a firm hand and long, pale fingers touching him just right, and when Theon can’t hold back anymore, he has to turn down his head and bite down on the pillow before he moans loud enough for half of the camp to hear.

When Theon comes down from his rush, Robb is looking at him with soft eyes again, his fingers brushing sweaty strands from Theon’s forehead.

“Can I stay?” he asks, sounding not entirely sure of it.

As if. Theon has no issues whatsoever with that. It’s everything else that is the problem.

“Kings don’t need to ask, you know.”

“That’s not –”

“Robb, stop taking everything I say seriously. You think I’d say no?”

Robb doesn’t dignify him with an answer, but he does lay back down with his arm curled around Theon’s waist and Theon figures that it’s a pity that it’s never going to happen again.

\--

The following morning, no one’s in the tent – obviously. Robb couldn’t have afforded to be found in there.

Theon takes his time dressing, and he doesn’t know if he should go find Robb or not, but in the end he figures that he’ll own up to it and walks into Robb’s tent. The guard doesn’t stop him. Robb is still there, looking at maps, but when he hears him walking in he raises his head and smiles a small, soft grin that is all Robb Stark, no king in the North whatsoever, and Theon doesn’t even bring the subject up.

There’s no need to.

IV.

Everything fucking _hurts_.

And then he opens his eyes and sees the Greatjon, and of course everything fucking hurts – he’s wounded, and the Greatjon is shaking him awake – it’d just make things worse.

“You need to come with me,” the Greatjon says, his tone clipped. “It’s urgent.”

“Wait. What – why?”

“There’s no time for explaining. You have to come now.”

He phrases it as some kind of order and –

Well, fuck no.

He remembers perfectly how he got into the bed he’s lying in right now, and he’s done with this.

“My lord,” he hisses, “I’d just like to remind you that I’m not currently on my feet because while we were assaulting this castle I took an arrow that was meant for _His Grace_ and not for me. I have no idea whatsoever of who even took care of it or of what happened since, but as I think that I proved to all of you that my loyalties don’t lie with my family, I’d appreciate it if at least you would pay me the courtesy of telling me what in the seven hells is going on before dragging me out of this bed. I think I’ve earned that bloody much.”

“That’s not –” someone starts, but the Greatjon raises one hand.

“He’s right,” he admits grudgingly. “And considering what the plan is, he should at least know that before we go. But I can’t be thorough.”

“I’ll content myself with whatever you have.”

“Well. To answer your first question, your wound was patched up by one of Lord Westerling’s daughters. Other than that, it happened that His Grace was also wounded, but it was a lot less serious than yours. Nonetheless, she was treating his wound, too, when a raven from Winterfell arrived.”

“What – what happened?”

The Greatjon sighs.

“Roose Bolton has turned his cloak. He was worried about the Ironborn getting too close to him, and so he struck some kind of deal with them. I don’t know. What we know is that his bastard son has stormed into the castle and that there no news of the Stark children.”

_Oh, no._

“That means –”

“We don’t know more than that, but – well. Knowing Bolton’s bastard, assuming the worst is the natural conclusion. The girl was there, and His Grace wasn’t in his right mind, and as things are, we have a spoiled maiden and an alliance with the Freys that only relies on an engagement.”

Theon is starting to see where this is going.

“Let me guess, this happened either in this room or in the next one, did it? I should hope it wasn’t in here.”

“In the next one,” the Smalljon supplies.

“Fuck. You want to say that it was me and get us married before R – before His Grace can think of setting things right.”

“It seemed like the most sensible course of action.”

Theon should tell them to go fuck themselves, and that he isn’t here to fix all of Robb’s mistakes, and that they didn’t even ask for his opinion first, not to mention that marrying someone that Robb spoiled sounds like the worst jape he ever heard, but then again – right. He’s here just because he’s sworn himself to Robb’s service, otherwise his head would be on a spike outside Riverrun’s gates. And his status isn’t what it used to be – there’s no need to ask his opinion.

And that said, who is he kidding. If Robb asked, he’d do it. And if the Frey alliance goes, then it’s a big damned problem.

“All right. Find me some fucking cloak to give the girl and give me some decent breeches and a shirt – if she’s getting stuck with me, at least I’ll do her the decency of not wearing bloodied clothes while I marry her.”

At least no one objects to that – fucking gods be darned praised.

As if. Someone finds him clothes that fit and someone else throws a black and gold cloak at him that was obviously sewn in haste.

And then they walk for a couple of hallways before Robb runs into their small party.

“What is this about?” He asks, sounding not entirely happy with what he sees. He also looks as if someone who hasn’t slept at all last night.

“Your Grace,” Rickard Karstark says, “yesterday’s situation has to be solved. And the only way to do it –”

Robb looks at him, then at Theon, then at the Greatjon, and then he shakes his head. “My lord, thank you for your solicitude, but I made that mistake and I’m going to fix it. And he needs to be in a bed, not on his feet, with all the blood he lost yesterday. Gods, he can barely stand as it is.”

Not that Robb is wrong. Actually, considering that he hasn’t even eaten, he’s right on all accounts.

“But Your Grace, you can’t –”

“I’ll think about my options, my lord. Get him back to his bed and come find me later.”

That’s a no questions tone.

Theon lets himself be dragged back to the bed and he’s out in seconds.

\--

“So… well. I was devastated,” Robb says. “It’s not – that letter was from Master Luwin, but it was obviously written in a haste and maybe he couldn’t even finish before sending it. It wasn’t signed. I hope they’re alive, but when I read it I just couldn’t reason. And she was there and – well. Things happened. “ Robb is whispering by the time he finishes his speech, and Theon suppresses the urge to ask _so wait, the lovely maiden patched up my shoulder but you were the one sleeping with her_?

Mostly because the entire situation is too serious to joke about, even if he’s really tempted to do it anyway, at least to break the tension.

He sighs.

“Are you sure about this?” he settles on. “Stark, you’re throwing away the Frey alliance. They won’t be fine with it. And if Renly’s dead and you won’t get his men, you can’t afford to lose pieces of your army here and there.”

“Even if I regretted it, it’s not as if it can be undone.”

Right. He married her already. While Theon was passed out.

“You know that I’d have done that. I mean, the way your bannermen went about it wasn’t what I’d have liked, but if you asked –”

“Neither of you deserves that,” Robb cuts him.

“Neither of us? Stark, I get that it wouldn’t have been convenient for her to marry the likes of me, but for what concerns –”

“So what, if I do something stupid it’s fine because I can pin it on you? Gods, you could have died because you took an arrow that was meant for me, and what I give you in return is a wife you most probably don’t want? And for what concerns her – it’s not about your status. It’s – she was – she didn’t have to cure either of us, and she didn’t have to stay with me when I got those news.” He stops for a moment, takes a breath, his hands clenched into fists. “It was – should I repay her kindness by marrying her off to someone she doesn’t even know? That’s not – that’s not the kind of person I want to be. Or the kind of king I want to be, if I have to do it.”

Oh. Well. That’s just so – so _Robb Stark_ that Theon would laugh, if there was anything funny about it.

“Nothing to argue, but – maybe you should have waited a bit. Just – you could have thought about it.”

Robb gives him a laugh that has no mirth.

“Theon, there wasn’t much to think about. If I married her off to you, or to someone else – I’ve been over that already. If I had gone and left her like that – well, I could have, but I spoiled her and I’d have ruined her chances of marrying someone not beneath her. And I couldn’t. What more thinking was there to do about it?”

Right. Not much. But then Theon gets a better look at him. Oh, shit. That’s not the entire truth. “And you like her, don’t you?”

Robb half-blushes, looking down at his feet. He doesn’t look like a king at all right now.

“I do. I know I’m breaking my word, but that word was to marry someone I haven’t even met. And the more I spoke to her the more I did like her. It’s – I don’t know what kind of marriage I would have with one of the Freys. But I know I’d have a good one with her.”

And that all sounds good, it does, but Theon can’t help thinking that maybe this just lost them that war.

Then again, there’ll be a lot more people telling Robb that from now on.

Theon figures that if he is the first to do it, nothing will be gained.

“Well, I’m offended. She cures me first, then _you_ sleep with her and then you marry her while I’m still out of commission? I’d have thought you’d have at least waited for me to wake up so that I wouldn’t miss the bedding.”

Robb’s eyes widen, and for a moment Theon thinks that he went too far, but then Robb lets out a choked snort, and then another, and then he’s laughing in spite of himself, hard enough that tears leak from his eyes, and Theon can’t feel too bad about it.

“You know,” Robb says as he tries to dry his eyes, “can I tell you something?”

“You’re the king in the North, you don’t need to ask me permission to tell me something.”

“Just – can I say that I’m kind of glad that you never left for Pyke at all? I mean, I probably shouldn’t be, because – well. I don’t think I need to say it. But –”

Robb is fishing for words, and Theon can’t tell him that he already understood what he means and that he doesn’t need for him to finish.

“But you’re realizing how horribly boring would this war have been without me there?”

“Oh, shut it, Greyjoy. But I guess you have a point. I’d be a lot more _bored_ without you around.”

Robb is trying not to laugh in his face again and Theon figures that they can worry about the Freys later. One bridge to cross at a time. For now he puts his hand on Robb’s shoulder and squeezes slightly, and he’s mildly surprised when Robb covers it with his own. But it feels good, definitely better than this morning’s wake-up call, and he doesn’t make an effort to move.

He doesn’t tell Robb, but he’s glad that he never went to Pyke, too.

V.

As predicted, the Frey alliance goes out of the window.

The thing is, when Theon is properly introduced to Jeyne Westerling (technically she’s seen more of him than it would have been proper, but he hadn’t been awake for that, had he), after two minutes he can’t help thinking that maybe he wouldn’t have minded so much if he had ended up married to her after all. It’s that she’s so nice, trying to blame her for the situation sounds like an utterly ridiculous idea. Sure, she isn’t the astonishing kind of beauty of the maidens you hear about in songs. But she’s lovely in her own way – proportioned, kind eyes, nicely shaped soft pink lips, and she looks at Robb as if he’s the best thing that ever happened to her, and that’s when Theon knows that he’ll never be able to look at her and think _I wish you had been a bit more strict with that maidenhead of yours_.

It’s because at least they do have that one thing in common. Robb is the best thing that happened to him, too – he gets how she feels. He really does. For once, he’s careful to remember enough manners in front of her, and he keeps his mouth shut – especially because her parents are there, too, and gods but the moment he sees her mother he feels a genuine dislike. Mostly because she seems not to appreciate his presence much, but that’s not any news, is it?

Anyway, he guesses that he must have made an impression if Robb asks him whether he can be her escort while they go back to Riverrun. Theon accepts, figuring that if Robb rides alone it’d probably be a better idea considering that some Freys are still in the army.

Before they leave, Robb tells him – quite smug, Theon thinks – that she had asked for him specifically.

And while they’re riding next to each other, he can’t help himself from asking her.

“My lady? Can I… ask you something?”

“Of course,” she replies.

“R – His Grace said you were the one asking for me to do this? It’s not that I mind, but – I’m curious. Why?”

She glances at him at that, and her cheeks turn pink just. _She really is lovely_ , Theon thinks.

“Well – I think you’re the only one in this camp that does not hate me.”

Theon can’t help himself from letting out a half-laugh. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

She shakes her head. “My lord, I was introduced to all of His Grace’s bannermen. And you’re the only one who seemed to mean it when he said he was pleased to meet me.”

“I’m no bannerman. Or no lord, for that matter. You don’t need to use that title.” He might as well get used to it. “That said, I usually don’t lie when I’m in front of such a lovely lady.”

He flashes her a hint of that certain smile he used to give to a girl whenever he wanted to bed her and she wasn’t a whore, figuring that maybe she might appreciate a small lack of manners. She blushes harder, but she also looks somewhat pleased.

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m not much for that kind of compliments. I only do it if I mean it.”

She’s not holding herself so stiff anymore, which he figures isn’t bad at all. Then he suddenly realizes that her situation isn’t that much different from his. Both of them would be dead or in a lot of trouble if it wasn’t for Robb’s ridiculous _honorable_ face, and no one in the camp likes them for that reason exactly. (Someone who wasn’t Robb would have left her behind. And someone who wasn’t Robb would have killed him, regardless of friendships or else.)

They do have more than one thing in common, after all.

“Well, my thanks. I shall hold your praise in high opinion.”

“Now you’re flattering _me_ , my lady.”

“I’m not. At least, that’s what I should do, according to my lord husband.”

“Excuse me?”

“My lord, I might not have known him for long, but I think it’s safe to say that he trusts you a lot more than most of his bannermen. I suppose there is no reason why I shouldn’t do the same thing.”

And – well. It’s nice to hear that, coming from someone else.

“That’s _extremely_ flattering. Then I suppose that you’re the only person other than His Grace in here who doesn’t wish me dead.”

She laughs at that, a small, polite sound that is nonetheless sincere.

If things always went the way they should, Theon would be wishing that she had stayed behind.

As they are, he’s glad that she’s his queen and not some girl named Frey whose first name hasn’t even been uttered until now.

 

VI

“I need to talk to you,” Robb tells him. His clothes are stained with blood, and his sword is, too (Rickard Karstark’s blood, Theon thinks shuddering).

He looks so tired that he barely can stand up.

“Of course.”

He follows Robb to his chambers – Jeyne is nowhere to be seen, but Theon figures that she has to be with Lady Stark.

He sincerely hopes that at least she likes her daughter-in-law. Since they came to Riverrun, the situation hasn’t improved.

Robb drops on the bed, takes his head between his hands for a moment, then he lets out a breath and looks up at him.

“As things are, I can’t undo what my mother did,” he sighs. “I still think it was a bad call, but I – I understand her. With no news until now, it’s easy to assume that I’m the only son she has left.” He stops, takes another breath. “I guess that the only thing I can do is hope that her plan works.”

“You mean –”

“Well, if I have to lose the Kingslayer, at least I should hope to get my sisters back.”

Theon has never heard him sound that weary.

“That would be something,” he says when Robb doesn’t go on.

“It would. And – well. If it works and if she agrees… listen, I really shouldn’t be making promises that I might not be able to keep, but… if my mother’s plan does work out and if her knight brings us my sisters and if Sansa agrees to it –”

“Wait. She should agree to _what_?”

“If Sansa agrees to it, I would marry her to you.”

For a good minute, Theon doesn’t even find words for it.

He has to grab a chair and to sit on it before his legs give out. It’s not – he had entertained that notion for a while, he had hoped that Ned Stark might want to marry Sansa to him, and he’s half-ashamed to admit that he hoped for it more because it would have made him one of _them_ rather than because of Sansa herself. They never were close, though she never outright disliked him at least. But then Joffrey Baratheon – pardon, most probably Lannister – had happened and he had known that it was just a stupid fantasy.

But at least, back then, he’d have had the titles. Right now, if Sansa married him, she’d marry a lot beneath her name.

Gods, considering that giving her a Greyjoy cloak would be the biggest jape since Aegon’s landing, it would mean that –

“Robb, you can’t be serious. It would be like marrying her to some commoner. No one would like it.”

“Oh, that’s the least of my worries. What others would think. What good is to be kings if you can’t do what you want, sometimes? Let’s not worry about that part. And let’s also hope that they don’t force her to marry Joffrey before my mother’s knight delivers them the Kingslayer. But if that goes as it should… well, I’m pretty sure she’d rather have you than the person who killed our father. At least she knows you. As I said, I won’t force her to if she doesn’t want to do it, but if she agreed…”

Robb doesn’t finish that sentence, but there’s no need. Theon has grasped the implications, all right. If he marries Sansa, he gets everything he always wanted. He gets to call Robb his brother for real (and not just between the two of them), he gets to call Winterfell home without feeling as if he doesn’t have the right, and if Robb wins the war it also means a metaphorical slap to his father’s face. Which isn’t an entirely displeasing notion.

“If she agreed, you know I wouldn’t refuse.” He can barely hear himself. He stands up and sits next to Robb on the bed. “But – you know marrying her to me would be a waste. Your sister’s hand could gain you an alliance, and the gods know that you need another if the Freys don’t come around. You can’t afford that.”

Robb shakes his head. “Theon, I just said that I’d do it if she agreed to it. After what happened to her, do you think that she would like it if the moment she came back, I told her that she’s to be married to someone else she doesn’t know just because I needed soldiers? I’m not sure that she would agree to that more eagerly.”

“I don’t think so either,” he has to agree. That’s a pretty good point. Maybe, since it would be unheard of if she stayed unmarried, she _would_ prefer him to some unknown face that means nothing to her. He can hope. But hope is a dangerous thing. Hadn’t he hoped to be welcomed back home at some point?

Still. That was all in his head. It had been him imagining it, without anything to back it. At least this is more real. At least this means he has an actual chance of getting it, if everything goes right.

“Robb, I’d be honored,” he says after a long while. “You know that, too. But I’m not going to hold you to it until it can actually happen.”

“Well, I’ll try my best.” Robb’s smile is shaky at best, but Theon can’t expect it to be otherwise. “I thought I could do better than this,” he whispers a moment later. He’s looking down at his bloody doublet. “I thought – I thought I would be better than this. What kind of king has to take that kind of decision?”

 _The kind that takes all the right decisions, which never fails to make every side unhappy_ , Theon thinks.

“The responsible one,” Theon settles on.

“As if it pays off,” Robb laughs. “That beheading won’t help me at all.”

“I still think you should go back North.”

“Right. Passing through the Twins, again? Not such a good idea right now.”

Theon has to agree with that. “Maybe you can salvage it.”

“I should hope. You know, I’m not – I’m not sorry I married her.”

“You shouldn’t be. She’s good for you. And I think she loves you more than any random daughter of Walder Frey’s would have.” He has no idea where that speech came from, it’s not his style at all, but fuck it, Robb doesn’t need the bad sides of that decision pointed out all over again. And one of the reasons Theon likes her is that she really loves her lord husband.

“If only that counted for Lord Walder himself. The moment I can go back home, Bolton is going to regret having turned his bloody cloak.”

Theon has absolutely nothing against that plan. 

\--

The first time he finds himself alone with Lady Stark, it’s exactly what he had expected. She looks weary, and she seems to have aged five years between now and the last time he saw her, when she left for Renly’s camp.

She also doesn’t seem entirely pleased with him, but it’s not as if he had expected differently.

“I’m sorry about what my father did,” he says after a silence that had been going on for too long. He’s also sick of apologizing for his father, but what else can he do.

She gives him a soft nod, then turns her eyes towards the window. “Robb told me about his plans, if Sansa is returned to us.”

He wishes he didn’t have to have this conversation. As if. “I should hope that you aren’t too displeased, my lady.”

She sighs. “I’d have rather seen you married to Jeyne Westerling.”

Of course she would. She doesn’t look as if she’s displeased with him for not having married her, merely as if she’s resigned to having to deal with the mess that marriage caused. She was the one striking that alliance with Walder Frey, after all.

But Theon is also tired of this. It’s not as if he ever expected Lady Stark to like him, or as if he ever expected her to be much different from her husband (courteous but distant), but after everything that’s happened, he’d like someone who isn’t Robb not to show him just disappointment.

“My lady, it was Robb’s decision. But I was willing to do it. He didn’t let me, which was probably a good thing considering that I would have probably fainted through the marriage, if I had gone through with it.”

“Fainted?”

“I suppose no one informed you that I took an arrow for him during the battle. The first thing that happened the following morning was Lord Umber dragging me out of bed in order to get married, and he wouldn’t have even given me an explanation until I insisted. I swore myself to Robb, I’ve been telling him everything that I can about what my uncles or my sister might do, I’d have gladly died for him – I know that you probably don’t like the idea of your daughter marrying me, but is it too much to ask that I might be judged for that, too?”

He knows that he stepped out of line with that speech, he does, but he isn’t sure he has it in himself to go on keeping his mouth shut. Lady Stark is looking at him with wide eyes, as if she had been expecting everything but what he just said.

“I’m sorry,” he says before she can answer him. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was –”

“I owe you an apology,” she interrupts him, and that makes Theon forget what he was just going to say.

“My lady, you don’t –”

“No, I do. I shouldn’t have said that, either. Especially right now. I’m not in a position to reprimand you. It’s that –”

“You don’t want him to lose this war and you want your family back,” Theon says, unable to keep his tongue still again. Damn. He should control himself.

She looks straight at him again – she’s obviously surprised. “How did you know that?”

“My lady,” he sighs, “it’s the same thing I wanted when my father rebelled first. My mother lost two sons as well – I didn’t forget that, either. Do you think that it made me happy to know that when my lord father rebelled for the second time, he did it knowing that he would have condemned me to lose my head?”

“No,” she answers. “I can imagine it wouldn’t.”

“Well, considering that your son is the one person I know who seemed not to like it, either, you can believe me when I say that I have no intention to turn my cloak. I want him to win the war, too. But if he wants to own up to his mistakes, you can’t ask me to stop him from doing that.”

“At least there’s something we agree on,” Lady Stark replies, and Theon figures that it could have gone worse. He knows this doesn’t mean that she will ever like him, or that she will approve of it if he does marry Sansa after all, but at least maybe she respects him enough.

He’ll take what he can get.

VII

“Listen,” Robb asks him, “do you think you could – keep Jeyne company while I talk to the Frey envoys? I’m not sure it would be a good idea if she was there, too, but her brothers should be on the council. It’s not that I don’t want you to –”

“Robb, I know that you aren’t keeping me out of that voluntarily,” Theon sighs. “I don’t mind. I’ll keep your pretty wife from worrying too much about the situation.”

“I just didn’t want you to think that –”

“I _don’t_ think that you’re belittling me. Really. It’s flattering that you’d trust me not to sleep with her.”

Robb gives him a half-smile and rolls his eyes. “As if you would. Thanks, really.”

“Don’t mention it. I have a feeling that your council would be a lot more boring.”

Robb shakes his head and leaves, and Theon figures that he should get upstairs sooner rather than later. He goes and knocks before letting himself in.

“My lady,” he tells Jeyne as he walks in. She’s sitting on the bed, sipping at some kind of drink. There’s no one else in there.

“Oh. My lord. To what I owe you visiting?”

“His Grace thought that we could keep each other company. If you want to, of course.”

“Come in then. Of course. Just let me finish this.”

“What would that be?”

She blushes all over her face, a deep pink shade appearing on her cheekbones. “My mother gave it to me. It’s supposed to help me – well, be with child. We’ve been trying,” she adds, another small smile curling her lips upward.

“Oh, he told me about that,” he jokes, and she gives him a half-laugh before raising the cup to her lips again. And that’s when he smells what she’s drinking and he decides that something is off.

“Would you mind if I looked at it for one moment?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Just – something. Maybe I’m wrong.”

He grabs the cup delicately and brings it closer, and the moment he smells the drink properly, he realizes that not only something is off.

If he’s right… he takes a sip, just to be sure of it, and the moment he tastes the thing, he knows he was right.

“You’re pale,” Jeyne says then. “What’s wrong?”

“My lady, this is not – this is no fertility drink.”

“It – it isn’t? How would you know that? And what would it be, then?”

He hopes that he isn’t the one blushing right now. “It’s – well. It’s not exactly the same, but I can bet money that it shares a lot of ingredients with moon tea.”

“ _Moon tea_? But – how would you –”

“I know because I’ve been with most of the whores in Winterfell’s brothel. And all of them used to drink it – well. After. Once I asked one of them if I could have a taste just because and she let me – it doesn’t have any effect on men. It smelled more or less like that. And the taste is similar.”

Jeyne’s eyes widen at once, and Theon puts the cup away on a small desk.

“But – my _mother_ gave it to me. Why would she do that?”

Theon is about to suggest calling a maester, but he doesn’t do it. He isn’t sure that more people knowing about that would be a good idea, and there’s no way he was wrong.

Also, if they’ve been _trying_ since they married, if Jeyne had been drinking fertility potions, well – she should be with child already. And she obviously isn’t.

“My lady, I have no idea, but if I were you, I wouldn’t take that anymore.”

She nods, then stands up and looks out of the window. Then she throws the tea out of it.

“Should – should I tell His Grace? Should I ask my mother?” She sounds dejected, and of course she would. Damn. Those are some nice questions.

“Well, in that case you should say who told you that it was moon tea. And it’s my word against your mother’s. Robb – His Grace would believe me over her, I know that, but I doubt anyone else would.”

“It would just make everything even more complicated when – when there really isn’t the need for further complications, wouldn’t it?”

“… I’m afraid so,” Theon replies. _Fuck_.

“I guess – maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone for now. I’m going to stop drinking whatever she gives me and see what happens. I’m just – if you hadn’t realized it – but _why_?”

Theon would have the obvious answer for that. _She doesn’t want you to give him a heir. Which means that she didn’t like this marriage either._ But he doesn’t see the point in making the poor girl even more miserable.

Not when she looks as if she’s about to cry.

Maybe she’d have been better off married to him for real. And the thought makes him want to laugh.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But after this thing with the Freys is settled, if it is, we should probably tell him. Without anyone else around.”

“It – it sounds like a plan.” She gives him a tight nod before sitting back on the bed again. She reaches out for a crown on the nightstand, turning it between her hands. Theon recognizes it – it’s the one Robb had ordered to be made for her. It’s shaped like Robb’s, but it’s smaller, without the swords, and she’s looking at it almost lovingly – gods, the same way she looks at Robb, pretty much.

 _If I had married her, we’d have spent the bedding wishing that the other was Robb Stark, and we’d both know enough about the real thing to imagine that down to the last details_ he thinks, and he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. This entire situation is so absurd, he doesn’t even know what to make of it. He merely hopes that they get past this impasse with the Freys, and then they can worry about heirs, about Jeyne’s mother and about everything else.

“How bad is it that I don’t regret it?” she whispers. “He’d be a lot better off if he had left me behind, but I can’t – I just can’t.”

“How bad is it that I’d die for him if there was the need and no one in this castle except for maybe three people trusts me?”

She laughs at that, a bit strained, but at least she’s regaining a bit of color.

“My lord, I think that’s a pity.”

“My lady, all things considered, I think you should just use my name. Lately, if someone calls me like that, they don’t mean it.”

“Fine then. _Theon_ , I think it’s a pity.”

“And I think he didn’t choose badly, when he picked his wife.”

He wishes it was a lie, but it really, really isn’t.

\--

“How is she?” Robb asks later.

“She’s well,” Theon replies. He keeps his mouth shut about the moon tea, but from the way Robb looks, that kind of news is the last thing he needs. “And the Freys?”

“They might accept my apologies and keep the alliance if my uncle marries one of Lord Frey’s daughters.”

“And how did your uncle take it?”

“… he could have taken it better, I suppose. But he’ll come around, hopefully. Gods, I knew it would be _bad_ , but –”

“Don’t say you didn’t expect it to be that bad. You knew that.”

Robb shrugs and doesn’t deny it. Theon is about to push it, there can’t be all there was to that council, but then the Blackfish appears with message in his hands.

“Your Grace… you might want to read this right now.”

When Robb’s face loses all its color, Theon grabs the message from his hands.

And then he reads that Sansa Stark is now Sansa Lannister. Married to Tyrion Lannister.

 _Exactly what no one needed_ , Theon thinks. Gods, maybe it would have been better if she had married Joffrey instead – at least he isn’t a Lannister in name, regardless of all the ways he’s one outside of it.

“Fuck,” he says out loud. No one contradicts him.

VIII

The moment Theon hears the definitive terms, he decides that he doesn’t like them. Not even a bit.

“Robb, I don’t like this. Why should _we_ go to the Twins?”

“Well, _I_ wronged them. Why should _they_ come here?”

“He’s right,” Lady Stark says, and Theon isn’t quick enough to hide his surprise. This is news. Since when does she agree with him? “It’s almost too easy. I know Lord Walder – this isn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“And isn’t that a good thing?” Robb retorts.

“Maybe, but – he should have asked for a lot more than just this. And the wedding happening at the Twins being the only condition, except for your presence, is – too little.”

“That’s all good, but I can’t exactly say no, can I? Sansa is a Lannister in name and the gods know if they will exchange her for the Kingslayer now. And if they would, I should still find a way to annul that marriage, and I highly doubt that it wasn’t consummated. Renly is dead, Stannis is defeated and the Tyrells are with the Lannisters. Bolton turned his cloak long ago. To whom should I ask for an alliance? I have to gain them back and I don’t have any leverage. We’re going.”

“Jeyne shouldn’t,” Lady Stark answers. “Your presence is required, not hers. And bringing her would just make things worse.”

No one disagrees with that, and Robb accepts it, even if he doesn’t look happy about it. Of course he wouldn’t.

Theon’s feeling that something’s wrong isn’t going away anytime soon.

“I need a word with you,” Robb tells him then. Theon stands up from his right and leaves the room, feeling everyone else’s eyes on his back.

“What is it about?” Theon asks.

“I want you to stay here.”

The moment Robb says it, Theon’s stomach clenches. It can’t be. Robb can’t be asking that.

“Why?”

“Because I need someone I trust to be in Riverrun and to stay with Jeyne. If something happens –”

“Stark, _no_. Did you already forget that? _You_ trust me. Your mother does, some. And your wife does, but that’s it. If something happens and you don’t come back, in the best of cases I’ll end up where Jaime Lannister used to stay while he resided here, and I won’t be able to do anything for Jeyne or for anyone else. Don’t say you’ll write a piece of paper that might save my head. You saw what pieces of paper signed by a king did to your father. The only place where I can be useful is next to you, and you know that. So don’t give me that speech. I’m coming with you. You could order me not to do it as my king and it would be the one time I disobey, so – just don’t ask that of me.”

Robb sighs, looks down at the ground before taking a shaky breath and looking up at him again. “I can’t – I can’t say that I wouldn’t prefer it if you came. But –”

“Don’t. Don’t make me beg you, Stark. You’re not leaving me behind. You’re _not_.” He wishes he could stop himself from sounding as desperate as he is, but – he just can’t avoid it. It’s not even that he wouldn’t be good for anything left here; it’s that _everyone_ has left him behind at some point (his brothers, from the beginning, his sister who never had much love for him anyway, his father, even damned Ned Stark – he might have always been cold towards him, but he still couldn’t help regretting that he died), he isn’t sure that he can take it if Robb does the same. And if something does really happen and Robb doesn’t come back at all, he knows he’d end up dead or as a hostage all over again, and – no. He can’t do that either.

“I won’t make you beg,” Robb whispers. “All right. You’re coming with me. After all, no one said your presence wasn’t desired.”

Theon can’t help it – he feels relieved. “As if. Wherever there’s a wedding, there’s a bedding. Any maiden getting married would desire my presence during one.”

There’s no bite in that and the both of them know it.

\--

The third time Jeyne bids Robb farewell, she goes to find him before leaving.

“Please,” she whispers, “look out for him.”

“Is there anything else that I do?” he tries to joke, but it falls flat. Her eyes are wide and wet, and the atmosphere is everything but joyful.

“Still. Repeating it cannot hurt.”

“Before you go,” he says, his tone dropping – he hopes no one hears him – “how is the state of… that thing we need to discuss when we’re back?”

Her own tone drops even lower. “I think – my moon blood is slightly late. But it’s not – I mean, not late enough.”

Good, and bad at the same time. They’re leaving her on her own, or better, with her mother, and who even knows how she’d take it, if she hadn’t wanted Jeyne to be with child.

“Listen, we should be back within the week, but – no. No, that won’t do.” If she keeps it secret and something happens, then no one will have some plan to fall back on, and if she really is with child, then someone needs to have a fucking plan.

Theon tries to think quickly about everyone who’s staying behind, and there’s just one man that he’d trust with it. The problem is that said person never liked _him_ too much, but that’s not the issue right now. “The moment you’re back at Riverrun, tell Brynden Tully. Everything, including the fact that it was me finding out about that tea. If you keep something from him, he’ll know. He’ll keep it secret if there’s the need, but if something happens he’s the only one in there who could come up with a decent plan to keep you safe. And keep on throwing away those drinks.”

“I will,” she answers, her voice thin but firm. And then she moves forward and kisses his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers before turning her horse and leaving.

Theon stands there, half-dumbfounded. Did she really –

“Do I have to start worrying?” Robb tells him, but he’s trying not to laugh. Theon hadn’t even realized that he had come close.

“Your Grace, it’s not my habit to sleep with my king’s lady wife.”

“Shut it, Greyjoy. I know.”

And then they’re riding for the Twins, and Theon can’t help feeling distressed.

He still doesn’t like this one fucking bit.

IX

It’s raining when Robb is brought the message.

He turns towards Theon and he opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before finally shrugging and looking straight at him. “Your father’s dead.”

“He’s _what_?”

“Dead. Fell off a bridge during a storm, apparently. And your uncle Victarion has left Moat Caitlin a bit after.”

For a moment, Theon doesn’t know what to think. Should he feel sorry? Should he be happy? Should he think about what it means for him?

Right now, he just – feels really nothing whatsoever.

“Theon?”

He shakes his head, bringing himself out of it. He shouldn’t be thinking about what it means for him anyway – he sided with Robb, that’s the end of it.

“Sorry. Are there any other news?”

“Your other uncle has been seen around the islands, apparently.”

“My uncle _Euron_?” Theon can’t believe that. The last time he saw the man he probably was five. Or six. He can count the times he was in his uncle’s presence on two hands. He hasn’t been on the islands in ages, as far as he knows.

And then he realizes what’s the deal. “My sister has left, too, hasn’t she?”

“Apparently she was getting ready to depart.”

Theon laughs, but it’s more bitter than anything else. “Of course. Of course they would.”

“It’s for the succession, isn’t it?” Robb asks. Theon is kind of glad to have proof that Robb remembers what he told him a couple of times, before Ned Stark died.

“Yes. In theory – I should be the one following my father, but I can safely say that it’s not going to happen. When he rebelled the second time, he might as well have disowned me. And I sided with His Grace in front of enough witnesses – if I showed up there they’d probably laugh in my face and put me in a dungeon. That leaves my sister, but it’s never been heard of a woman ruling the islands. My uncles could try to use that as leverage and say that they have a better claim, but in order to do that, everyone has to be there. Surely not North or wherever my uncle had sailed off to. Not to mention that if they don’t find an agreement they could call a kingsmoot, and at that point any lord with enough men backing him would have a chance at ruling. Whatever, what concerns us is that all of them will be gone from the North for a while. It’s not something you solve in a few days.”

Theon can already see a glint in Robb’s eyes.

“Your Grace?” the Greatjon says. “Does this change your plans?”

“This changes my plans greatly. If this wedding goes as hoped, we’re going to have enough men again. And if all the Ironborn commanders are arguing about leadership, who’s going to stop us from getting back what they occupied? And while we take back the fortresses, I’ll be glad to show Bolton that he shouldn’t have sided with someone other than me.”

“So, after this –” Lady Stark says, her voice sounding tentatively hopeful.

“We’re going home,” Robb states.

 _But we have the wedding to get through first_ , Theon can’t help thinking.

\--

They have to stop for the night, which means that he gets to sleep on wet ground, in wet clothes, in a wet tent while it keeps on fucking raining. And it reminds him too much of how the weather used to be on Pyke – he’s forgotten a lot, but not how wet and cold and rainy it was. Considering that he just learned that his father is no more, it’s not exactly helping him sleep.

It’s not even that he’s sad – fuck, no. The man thoroughly ignored his presence throughout his childhood, then sent him off to Winterfell and then did something that would have gotten him killed if it had been anyone else but Robb in charge. Why the hell should he feel sad? To be honest, the most genuine feeling he has about the entire deal can be summed in _good riddance_. And he wishes it was about the throne he’ll never sit on. He hasn’t been thinking about that in months – if he was expendable, then he doubts that his father had been expecting him to come back and inherit. No need to delude himself.

He’s turned on his side for the tenth time when he hears a rustle at the tent’s entrance. He reaches for the knife, but no need of it – it’s Robb. Again.

“What is it?” Theon asks. “Don’t tell me they thought back on it.”

“No such thing, at least. And how are you feeling?”

“How am I – how should I feel? I’m fine. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Theon, if you’re fine then Bolton never turned his cloak. One can see it from miles that you’re not.”

He huffs, wishing he had an answer to give Robb. Or that he had one to give himself – same thing, at this point.

“Robb, I don’t know either. It’s just – how wrong is it that when I heard that your father died I felt a lot sadder than now? If I think about it, I can only think that I’m glad that he died in such a stupid way. I mean, I know he’d have liked it a lot better if he died while fighting on some ship. And that’s – I shouldn’t.”

There. He said it.

“That’s not true,” Robb says as he sits down next to him. “Who says that you shouldn’t? I don’t remember your father doing you any favor. Do you have any reasons to feel bad about it?”

“Fuck no. Before I was trying to come up with – well, whether I had one good memory of him.”

“And?”

“And I can’t come up with anything.”

Robb doesn’t answer outright – then again Theon doesn’t even know what he’d tell himself.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Robb says quietly a while later. “That you can’t – I mean, you should be there to take his place. You shouldn’t be here. You should have never come North at all, shouldn’t you?”

Good question. He used to think about it, sometimes. How it would have been if he had been raised on Pyke all his life, how it would have been if that war had never happened. But it’s not so easy.

“It wouldn’t have made him like me that much more. Robb, I was his last son, not his first. If I had stayed there and if my brothers had lived, I’m not so sure it would have changed things much. Hells, I can’t recall one good memory of either of them if I put my mind to it. The more I think about this, the more I’m convinced that I was never going to win either way.”

 _Unless this war works out for you_ , he doesn’t add.

“You know that isn’t necessarily true, don’t you?” Robb asks, his voice barely audible over the pouring rain.

Theon does know that. If the wedding works out, if Robb wins the war and if Sansa’s marriage can be annulled and if he marries her (though the whole Lannister marriage thing might make it easier, ironically – if she’s not a maiden anymore, then a lot less people would bat an eyelid if he put a cloak on her shoulders), then – then Robb is right. It wouldn’t be necessarily true.

But it’s too many _if_ s, and he won’t rest in peace until they’re done with the marriage and out of that castle.

“I do,” he replies eventually. “But even if it doesn’t – I don’t regret the way things have gone.”

“Looking at the big picture, that’d be hard to believe.”

“Why? I could do worse than siding with the only person in Westeros who ever cared enough to ask me for my opinion.”

He’s glad that it’s dark and that they can barely see their own faces, really. He isn’t sure he could have had this conversation while looking at Robb in the eye.

The last thing he expects Robb to do is lying down on the ground.

“What –”

“Go to sleep. I need you to be alert, tomorrow.”

“But –”

“I’ll be careful when I get out. Get down.”

Theon does, his wet, uncomfortable clothes momentarily forgotten. They don’t touch, but Robb is close enough to, if he chose to do so. He tries to recall if his sister or his brothers ever shared his bed on Pyke, but there’s a complete blank there, as well.

No, he doesn’t regret having gone with Robb. Not at all.

X.

The closer they get to the castle, the worse he feels about this entire deal.

When Robb is forced to leave his wolf outside, Theon doesn’t feel reassured at all.

And then Lady Stark moves close to him as they go inside (at least it’s not wet).

“I know we aren’t on the same page,” she whispers. She probably isn’t forgetting that when Robb wrote that parchment and made Jon Snow his heir he hadn’t said a word against it, but then again what should have he done? He never liked Snow much, and it was a mutual feeling, but if Roose Bolton’s bastard has killed the Stark children, if Arya is nowhere to be found and if Sansa is married to a Lannister, it’s not as if Robb had many other choices. And Snow at least is honorable – as much as they disliked each other, Theon knows that he’d step back in favor of his half-brothers or half-sisters if they had a better claim and if they somehow turned out to be all alive. Theon could have told Robb that he most probably did leave an heir in Jeyne, but no. This isn’t the time. And even if he did, it’d still be better to have someone capable ruling for the moment. “But… I know we want the same thing, for what concerns His Grace. Stay close to him. Please.”

Then she’s gone, moving closer to Robb, and Theon wishes that everyone had shown him that kind of trust years ago and not just now.

\--

He knows that they’re doomed the moment he hears the song.

Or better, he knows the moment he hears the song, the sound of drums fills his ears and he sees an arrow hitting Robb’s shoulder.

Fuck, _no_.

Before he can do anything, another arrow flies by and hits Robb in the leg – shit, shit, _what are they even doing_ – and then the seven hells break loose.

He feels someone moving behind him – he grabs his sword, turns on his back and strikes blindly. That was one of the men who was drinking in front of him just half an hour ago, but – he didn’t have a sword. Only a small knife that at worst would have wounded him badly enough to make him stop fighting, but nothing you’d use on someone that you mean to kill.

A moment later there’s another man on him, and Theon is grateful that he never stopped taking sword lessons even if he liked bows better. He strikes this one in the side, but it was too easy. The man hadn’t fought like someone who meant to put some steel in his heart either – otherwise he’d have been a lot less sloppy as he plunged forward with a – a _tourney_ sword? Most probably he just wanted to knock him out rather than kill him. Same as the first.

He doesn’t have time to figure out what the fuck is happening – not that there’s the need. It’s a trap. It had been all along. _Of course it had seemed too easy. Of course._ He sees Robb standing a few meters from him, a third arrow stuck in his hip, and then he sees another of Walder Frey’s nephews aiming at him from the corner. Specifically, aiming at Robb’s neck. He barely notices Dacey Mormont falling as she’s struck with an axe plunged right in her stomach, and he can only hear drums that are making his head split as they follow the rhythm of that bloody song.

He doesn’t even think before he runs and throws himself over Robb – the arrow flies past them, grasping his arm but not enough to wound him seriously, and then he’s on the ground with Robb under him. He can’t stay here, they’re too visible, and not that it’s going to matter since there’s no way they can escape, but the moment he thinks that, he sees the Smalljon running in their direction and throwing a table over the both of them. Then he screams.

Damn.

There’s no way he survived.

But at least now they’re covered – not for long, he supposes, but he’ll have to make it last.

And fuck – he can hear Walder Frey laughing – or well, at least his croaking sounds like laughter. Theon shudders as the floor under him shakes every time those fucking drums are hit.

He looks down at Robb – there’s blood all over him, coming out of his mouth – maybe he could still be saved, with immediate treatment, but Theon knows they won’t get any of that here. And while it’s obvious that whoever schemed this doesn’t want him dead, they’d have tried harder to kill him, it’s equally obvious that the plan was for Robb to die here.

For a moment he thinks, _what if Jeyne’s mother was in on this?_ , and it’d make fucking sense, because why would she prevent her daughter from getting pregnant otherwise, and maybe he should have talked, but it’s no use. It’s over.

“Stark,” he hisses, but Robb isn’t hearing him. He’s staring somewhere at his right, where he can see a pool of red coming closer from a couple of bodies fallen over there – someone cut their throat.

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck_.

“Robb! Robb, damn you, not now. Don’t do that.”

Robb blinks, turns his head towards him. When he opens his mouth, blood trickles out of the corner.

“Go,” he croaks. “You should – try to – save yourself, don’t – you’re still –”

Theon shakes his head.

No, he has an entirely different plan.

“If no one has tried to kill me for real, there’s just one reason. And I’m not going to be anyone’s hostage again if I can help it.”

“But –”

“Don’t waste your breath. The window on the bastard’s right is wide open. And it faces the river.”

Theon feels it when another couple of arrows hit the top of the table.

Shit. He doesn’t have much more time. Not if he wants to hope that he can take these turncloaks by surprise.

“I need you to hold on to me.”

Robb’s eyes widen at once – at least he didn’t need Theon to explain what he’s meaning to do.

He shakes his head again. “No – no, you can still – if you do – if you do that you won’t survive that fall, it’s _too high_ – you can’t –”

“I’m not letting myself get taken alive. Robb, please, I have just one shot at this and there’s no time left. At least it’s on our own terms, not theirs.” If he can get to the window in time, of course, but better not to think about what’d happen if he doesn’t manage to.

“I never – I never wanted to –”

“I know. I know. Don’t say you’re sorry.”

“You were right,” Robb croaks as his hands finally, finally touch Theon’s shoulders, as his arms close around his neck. Theon can feel blood seeping into his clothes. And he might be dying, but his fingers are holding on tight enough to hurt.

_A lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord._

_As long and sharp as yours_ , Theon thinks as the darned song keeps on playing. _Well_ , he thinks, _my claws might not be as long and sharp as Tywin Lannister’s_ (because why the fuck would they be playing this if he wasn’t behind this carnage, too) _but maybe they’re sharp enough to give him and his lordship Walder Frey a last strike, and if it works, I’ll die with a smile on my face._

Robb coughs against his neck and he feels warm, sticky fluid on his skin – shit, he’s not going to last much longer.

“Robb! Robb, please, just a moment, all right? I’m going now. Just – I want you to know I don’t regret anything. Please tell me you heard it.”

“Now and always?” Robb croaks, his voice barely audible, his hands fisted in Theon’s bloody cloak.

“Now and always,” Theon whispers, and even if he knows he doesn’t have time to waste, he takes a couple of seconds to move forward and press his lips to Robb’s cheek. He knows his mouth comes away bloody. Then he hears Lady Stark begging for Robb’s life from their right.

He’d like to tell her that it’s no use. Killing Robb obviously was the plan all along – they won’t. He hopes that she isn’t killed, as well; they never were on the same page but she doesn’t deserve this kind of death, same as Robb. But he can’t take care of that, either; if he wants to give it a try, he can’t indulge anymore. He puts his arm around Robb’s waist, then flips them over and kicks the table to the side. He doesn’t look at the corpses spread around the room, he can’t afford that luxury, but Walder Frey _has_ stopped laughing, and that’s good enough for him.

There’s no time for talking or looking at what’s around them. He has to act before someone has the presence of mind to stop him. He looks at his right – the window is still open. There’s rain pouring outside.

He stands up, dragging Robb along with him, and he runs.

He hears someone shouting to stop him, and there’s an arrow hitting him in the shoulder, but it’s fine because he’s almost _there_ , and Robb is still holding on to him even if not as strongly as before.

Maybe he’d have liked a second to stop and have a good look at what he’s about to do, but if he wastes time now, it’s over.

And then he’s made it, and the river is right below him.

He puts his feet on the ledge, looks down

( _it’s too high, he’s never going to survive the fall and Robb will be dead before they even hit the water but it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s better than living in a world where Robb is gone and he has to be the hostage of someone not as honorable as Ned Stark, and Robb is still warm against him, and if he closes his eyes he can pretend that they’re in Winterfell or in Robb’s tent that time when the war wasn’t lost yet, or in his own tent that night when he had crushed Robb’s mouth to his, and he knows now that neither of them was ever going to win, but it’s still better than any other alternative_ )

and closes his eyes.

He tightens his grip around Robb’s waist, and then they fly.

End.


End file.
